


Beyond All Hope

by Independence1776



Series: Tyrant Spells [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eucatastrophe, Gen, part of a dark AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/pseuds/Independence1776
Summary: After the War of Wrath, Maglor is released from Angband-- but there is still the matter of his Oath.





	Beyond All Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Like the rest of the series, this story functions under "Choose Not to Warn" due to the likelihood of missing something. This story-- as will the rest of the series-- contains references to torture.

I lay next to a shattered pillar, the roof of Morgoth’s hall open to the sky. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be dead, as orcs and Balrogs and other creatures fled-- though not far, as the sounds of battle grew ever louder.  
  
Something had occurred, though I knew not what. Morgoth had fled without giving me a glance-- but I would not risk drawing his creatures’ attentions when survival lay close. Not when I had lived through years of torment both mental and physical.  
  
But the clamor died away as it seemed most people went deeper into the mines. I heard cautious footsteps, though, making their way through the hall, ensuring that no ambush could come from here. I didn’t open my eyes. Better to continue pretending until I knew exactly which army was in the hall, though it sounded like Elves.  
  
A set of footsteps came toward me and then a slight inhale of breath and a muttered “shit” let me know whoever had found me was an Elf from Aman. No one in Beleriand spoke Quenya anymore. I opened my eyes as armored knees hit the stone floor with a clang. “You’re alive!” the soldier said. I sat up awkwardly and gestured with my right hand at my right ankle and the chain running underneath the pillar. The chain on my left wrist had broken somehow in the pillar’s fall, leaving a long stretch of links hanging from the cuff. “You were fortunate,” he said.  
  
I looked down-- another hands-breadth closer and my foot would have been crushed. “I know,” I said. “Is there anyone who can release me?”  
  
The soldier let out a breath. “There should be. There are enough smiths with the army and a lever should be enough to at least snap a link even if no one more knowledgeable can help. Are you injured?”  
  
I shook my head, ignoring the sting of the cuffs around wrist and ankle. “You are not the only person I played dead for.”  
  
It was a little while later, long enough the shadows had nearly vanished in the weak noon sunlight that filtered through the smoke and dust, that a smith snapped the chain open, leaving only a couple of links hanging at my ankle and one at my wrist. Then someone who looked vaguely familiar knelt down next to me, a healer’s kit at his side. He met my eyes. “I’m not sure you remember me,” he said in Sindarin. “I’m Elrond, Elwing’s son.”  
  
I gave him a half-smile. “I do remember you. You were smaller then.”  
  
Elrond smiled back. “I need to wrap your wrist and ankle. I can’t do much else for them here; it’s more delicate work to remove the cuffs than we should chance this close to Morgoth.”  
  
I let him deal with the wounds as best as he could. Mostly it amounted to ointmented bandages doubling as padding. I used the pillar to stand, testing my footing. The links would not bother me too much; I was used to the sounds they made and the weight was much lessened. My balance was not affected nor were my muscles completely atrophied. Too many games had required me able to move. “Does anyone have a sword?”  
  
The handful of people gathered around me glanced at each other. Elrond said, “Why? I’m not sure it’s wise to aggravate your injuries. You’re safe enough with us around you.”  
  
“Morgoth still has the Silmarils. Either find me a sword or move out of my way, I do not care which you choose.”  
  
There were enough orc corpses around that I could use one of their swords.  
  
They opened a path for me toward the door, most of them with worried looks on their faces. But they knew as well as I did what lengths the Oath would require. Before I walked a handful of paces, a dark-skinned Maia wearing Eönwë's emblem appeared in the ruined entrance. She nodded when she spotted us and picked her way across the ruined floor. She stopped in front of me, a serious expression on her face. “Eönwë requests your presence.”  
  
I tilted my head slightly. “Why?”  
  
Her expression did not change. “Morgoth has been defeated.”  
  
“If I refuse?”  
  
One black eyebrow lifted. “Your Oath requires that you not.”  
  
A chill ran down my spine. That meant only one thing. “Lead me to him.”  
  
To my surprise, the Maia brought me down into the mines, far below the level Morgoth sometimes stored me on when he tired of my being in his hall. The torches soon grew farther and farther apart and the heat worsened, though not oppressively. Just enough to be noticeable. At the end of the lowest cave, through a cleft in the wall that I wouldn’t have seen if I’d been looking at it from a different angle and if there was no light shining from within, we reached the cavern Morgoth was in.  
  
On his side on the floor, his feet hewn from under him, the crown of Silmarils still on his head. He paid no attention to me, his focus on Eönwë. Eönwë ignored the force of the glare and turned to look at me. He glanced at me up and down, eyes lingering on the cuffs, and said with a little smile playing about his lips, “Redeem your Oath, Fëanorian.”  
  
He stepped aside, leaving me a clear path to Morgoth’s head. Morgoth’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something as I walked closer. I smiled at him, genuine and true. “Even with holding me captive and tormenting me, you never won. Now you have lost _everything_ ,” I said quietly, though the room was silent enough I knew everyone would hear it.  
  
I stayed out of range of his mouth-- I wouldn’t put it past him to attempt to bite me in petty revenge-- and brushed a finger over the nearest Silmaril. I inhaled sharply at the burning pain in my fingertip and ignored Morgoth’s resulting mocking chuckle. I would not give him the satisfaction of reacting to him.  
  
I pulled the crown off his head, not caring if it bashed Morgoth’s head against the floor when it finally slipped off, but careful of my burn and careful not to touch the Silmarils. The crown was large enough to be awkward, but no one moved to help me. No one would dare awaken the Oath at this late time and in front of Morgoth. I looked at the three Silmarils shining brightly in the dark. I took several deep breaths, mentally apologized to Father and my brothers, and stepped forward toward Eönwë. “Against Vala and Demon, Elf and Man, I have succeeded in retrieving the Silmarils from Morgoth. I hold our Oath fulfilled.”  
  
I handed the crown to Eönwë, a sudden snapping and falling of the invisible, mental, and magical chain wrapped tight around me making me momentarily lightheaded and unstable. But I would not stagger in front of Morgoth, not now, no matter that he had seen me crawl in my own blood and feces. I was no longer his prisoner and he was no longer worthy of my attention.  
  
Eönwë held the crown with no difficulty and bowed his head to me. “Your Oath is indeed fulfilled.”  
  
He turned and walked from the chamber, the Maia who had led me there gesturing slightly at me to follow him. I did so, with her close behind me. Then I heard several loud shouts and curses as the remaining Maiar continued to bind Morgoth. I ignored the noise, concentrating on climbing the thousands of steps to the open air.  
  
Only after we reached the top of the mountain did I realize why the hall roof had shattered: a giant, winged dragon lay broken on the mountain, shards of half-burned wood scattered around its head, its jaw and throat ripped apart as though something had flown at high speed into its open mouth. I stared at the sight until the Maia gently touched my left elbow. I glanced around, noticing Eönwë far ahead of me, still holding the crown, with thousands of troops-- both Eldarin and Maiarin-- scattered around, some of whom were looking between Eönwë and myself, hands on their weapons.  
  
She said, “Your chains?”  
  
I glanced down at them, having forgotten they were still on, as used to them as I was. The motion set my finger throbbing, though the blackened finger pad itself did not hurt. “Where are the healers?”  
  
She smiled at me, more happily than I thought anyone would do. Oath redeemed or not, I was still a Kinslayer. “This way.”  
  
She led me off the mountain and into the camp.


End file.
